


All That Remains

by The_White_Rabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11435067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: He doesn't mean to break your heart, but he does in the worst of ways...





	All That Remains

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Supernatural Angst Appreciation Day on Tumblr. I apologize in advance.

He doesn't mean to break your heart, but he does in the worst of ways, this beautiful archangel of yours.  Every time you’re with him, another part of you splinters and jars loose, falling to the floor where it shatters into so many tiny fragments there’s no hope of mending them.  Just when you think the pain can't be any worse, he walks over them, pieces grinding like fallen glass until they’re dust beneath his feet.  

 

No matter how many times you try to sweep it under the rug, a fine layer of your heartache remains.

 

It doesn’t stop you from getting lost in those eyes of his, those vast green seas tied together with a smattering of amber that sing golden in the sun.  Those rare things of beauty that make you want to weep because they’ll never sing for you again.  It doesn’t mean they don’t try.  Merciful Maker how they do try, for you, for himself, but the place in which you both remain is dark and stifling and the only light you can find is a cheap imitation of his Father’s creation.

 

They still sparkle with his mirth.  They still dance with mischief.  They just don’t resonate with the life they once had.  He is not the same and neither are you, and that difference sometimes makes you feel like he exists outside your reality, even when you’re lying in his arms.

 

Some days are easier than others.  Some he lets you sink beneath the silence to start, and those are the days you prefer most.  It's less painful than having it sneak into conversations that soon become stagnant.  That’s when ceaseless loops encircle his tongue, tugging you round and round until you’re so dizzy with disappointment that by the time the everlasting ache weaves together with your rising resentment, it’s all you can do to even stand him any longer.  

 

You’re not certain how much longer you even can stand.  The past never fails to bring you to your knees, even though everything lurches forward in an infinitely slow crawl.  Weeks pass, days pass, hours -- and yet the seconds lose all meaning when the sun sets and rises on a horizon whose affirmations of a new day have all but been extinguished.

 

Fallacy rings in words of wisdom designed to bring hope when little can be found.  How can love find a way when it no longer blossoms but burns, engraving venom in the voids where missing pieces once remained?  How can time heal all wounds when yours are torn asunder whenever you return?  For he looks like him, smells like him, tastes and sounds like him, but your heart knows the difference, and that is why it bears the brunt of this weight.  

 

You know what sleeps beside you at night and it is not your Gabriel.  

 

He told you once he’d never leave you.

 

Your response rang with fears that lurked far and long beneath the surface, the roots so entrenched there was no hope of removal, then or now.

 

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep._

 

_So long as you come home to me, sweetheart, I’ll always be here._

 

He kept his word, just like he said, just like your heart knew he would.

 

It would have been kinder if he hadn’t.

 

Your anger seethes beneath the surface, intertwining with your grief in ways that make breathing feel impossible because those promises are strewn about, mixed with the fractured pieces of what was and what will never be.  

 

What once was filled with love and warmth and endless possibility has grown as cold as the one responsible for this.  Your home is now your tomb, _in memoriam_ all but carved across the doorways of each and every room that whispers with the echoes of his presence and yours.  You haunt them just as much as he does, gliding from one empty space to the next in hopes that a spark of life might be found somewhere, somehow.  

 

You know you’ll never find it again.  

 

You know what you live is a lie, born of good intentions and the love you so desperately miss, but forever twisted by the cruel reality that you can never replace what’s been lost.  You knew. _You knew._  The moment he decided to face Lucifer, he would never come home to you again.   

 

The irony that the mighty Loki would be laid to rest in the Elysian Fields is not lost on you.

 

He doesn't mean to break your heart, but he does in the worst of ways, because that beautiful archangel of yours is gone.  All that’s left is an echo.  One that cannot leave your house.  One that will not leave you alone.  It’s his last remaining fragment and you cannot bear to let it slip from your grasp.  You grip it in your hands, so tight that those jagged edges of imperfection catch hold to the very fabric of your being.  There, you will allow it to pull you apart, stitch by agonizing stitch, until it is all that remains of either of you.  

 


End file.
